You'll be a spy when you come undone, lad
by Yggdrasil'sRoots
Summary: Stiles is a spy, undercover as a thief. His only hope of catching his perp is to not get nabbed by Detective Inspector Hale. Only, Hale isn't giving up any time soon. Stiles has the feeling this is going to go horribly, horribly wrong. Derek thinks it already has. AU, all human. Eventual Sterek.
1. Chapter 1

_**I don't usually write AU's, but this one popped into my head and would not be ignored, so I planned it out properly, for once, and I know where I'm going with it, and what should be in each chapter. I'm going to try for semi regular updates, because I do have my plan, but if I miss one it'll be because my muse is dying and needs revival.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own teen wolf, or it's characters, but damn if I'm not going to use them to the best of my ability.**_

A file, full of clandestine information to the point of bursting, sits on a plain desk, in a plain room, in a plain building, on a plain street. A perfectly unnoticeable man sits across the table from him, slightly balding, in a tweed suit that is perfectly horrible, but again, unnoticeable. His hands are folded on the desk passively, and only rise to push his glasses up his nose every twenty seconds or so.

He knew because he has been counting. His training has been thorough; he must know if repetitive motions are a scam; a forced habit, or just the rigmarole of civilian life.

17, 18, 19...

The man pushes his glasses up his nose again, placing the hand he had used back down over the other, and crosses his thumbs, the right over the left.

Left handed, he notes; it is his job to notice the details. He waits for the man to push his glasses up again. He does not. Instead, the unnoticeable man slides the file towards him, then rises, and leaves.

The door shuts behind him. It is an unremarkable door, to match the unremarkable room.

Nothing stands out. Nothing is supposed to.

He looks down, at the file, a red _Classified_ stamped across the front.

He opens the file.

The first page is a side profile, of a man catching a set of car keys in his hand, walking towards a Lamborghini, with a name printed in bold black ink below; **Santos D'Meyer**.

The second is a list of his illegal activities, attached to a thick packet of what he knows will be an in depth description of those activities, and of the man himself. He reads that, too, then flicks to what is technically the six hundredth and forty seventh page, but he refers to it mentally as the third.

He scans the page, scans it again, and rises. Leaving the file there, on that plain desk, he exits the room, and collects a memory stick from the frumpy woman at the desk. It will have all the information on it that the file contained, he knows, encrypted, and safe.

He takes the stairs, preferring them to an enclosed space like the elevator, his long legs jumping down them two or three at a time, and when he reaches the bottom, he doesn't exit, but crosses the lobby of the building, dodging businessmen and women. He opens a door labelled _staff only_ with his coded card, that will only work for him, on this specific door, with his thumb pressed to the print pad under the magnetic strip. And it won't work if his thumb is separate from his hand, because the pad also detects the pulse in the digit.

He walks down a long corridor, unflinching as red scanners pass over his body and beep, turning green when their servers recognise that he is meant to be here.

An elevator is waiting for him, doors open in invitation, and he enters with no hesitation, relaxed and comfortable as it descends.

It dings at him, and he steps out of the reopened doors. He weaves his way through the desks, familiarly set out and orderly, and ducks in a side door that is barely noticeable, punching in a six digit code for the door that is only a foot away from the first. Security measures, he knows, but he nearly always walks into it, and it is irritating. He may have avoided it this time, but he is certain he won't be as lucky next time.

The code is sound, he shoulders the door open, and slips through, greeted by a soft wave of sound.

Typing, rustling papers, and soft murmuring fills the air, and he situates himself at his desk, tapping in the password, scanning his thumbprint and plugging in the memory stick. He waits for the computer to boot, and load, then types in the appropriate password for the data stick.

The information pops up on his screen.

"Avengers assemble!" He says, and gestures at the computer, which loads the file up on the screen that dominates one of the walls of their office.

His team shuffle to the area they have dedicated to file perusals, full of plushy bean bags and pillows. There is even a coffee machine.

"I thought we agreed we weren't doing that?" Isaac asks. Stiles scoffs, and moves on, pulling up a picture of D'Meyer.

"Target's name is Santos D'Meyer. Spanish, old money, nasty fucker. Got his fingers in a lot of different pots, human trafficking, fraud, bribery of governments, kidnapping, torture, all sorts. Clean on the surface, but once you dig a little, he's real nasty." Stiles sees Scott wince out of the corner of his eye, but barrels on regardless. "Now, he's a tricky shit, he hires thieves to steal for him, jewels, art, weapons, you name it, D'Meyer has it. So we have to get me on his radar, as a thief. Which means the next few months are dedicated to making me a master thief, and getting it noticed. That means brash, obnoxious, belligerent thefts, almost stupid, I guess. Maybe a little weird, too."

"Why do we want him?" Lydia has been steadily typing throughout his little speech, probably profiling D'Meyer, but she pauses to hear his answer.

"He's planning something. Something big, something real bad, too, to do with chemical warfare. But he doesn't have the stuff for it yet, and he doesn't have a thief picked out either, so we have to be that guy that he comes to."

Lydia nods, and taps a few more keys. A list of precious artefacts pops up.

"How's that for belligerent?" She asks.

Stiles just smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

_**I have a feeling these are going to happen in clumps of chapters.**_

_**Disclaimer: I'm only borrowing them, Jeff, put the gun down!**_

_December 2012, Paris_

Stiles pokes his head around the corner, spies a guard, and yanks his head back just in time to avoid being seen. A moment later, he leans out again, and shoots the unfortunate guard with a tranquilliser dart. The man sways for a minute, eyes glazing over gradually, but topples over seconds later.

"Sorry, dude." Stiles taps his comm with his index finger. "Lydia? Are the cameras looping?"

"Yep, you have fifteen minutes exactly, Stiles, go."

Stiles bolts across the courtyard, and slips into the door Lydia has remotely unlocked for him. Shutting it behind him, he checks all the cameras, for the tell tale red light that means they are recording.

Nothing.

"Don't you trust me, Stiles?" Lydia's smirk is practically tangible through the comms.

He crosses the corridor quickly, making his way to the appropriate wing, and section, of the museum. He casts his gaze around the room until he finds what he is looking for.

There.

He starts to move, but is stopped by Lydia hissing in his ear.

"_Guard_."

He drops flat behind the case, concealing himself quickly. Heavy footsteps ring out on the marble floor, and Stiles holds his breath, waiting for them to walk away.

"Eleven minutes."

**Why is he not moving?** Stiles thinks desperately to himself. **He has to move.**

Eventually the guard moves on, and he jumps noiselessly to his feet, yanking the glass cutter from his belt, and setting it to the glass gently.

"Lyds?" He whispers. "Now." He hears frantic typing in his ear, and the beep of Lydia's laptop that means the alarmed case is disabled, and presses the button. The laser sparks, and he drags the arm in a circle, then turns it off and pulls a neat disc of glass away. Tucking it into the pouch at his waist, he waits for Lydia to determine that no alarms will be set off if he lifts anything.

"You're good. Six minutes." He grins, snakes his gloved hand into the display case, and lifts out what he has come for. Stuffing it into the cushioned pouch, he touches the comm button.

"Lydia?"

"Four minutes. No guards. _Go._" He sprints back to the door he entered through, sprays an arc of food colouring across it, and exits.

"Three minutes." Lydia sounds on edge. He runs faster, past the unconscious guard, yanking his dart out on the way, and turns a corner, sliding slightly.

"Two minutes."

He is clear of the museum, and he hides in an alley, stripping and turning his reversible clothes the other way out, redressing and settling into the character Allison chose for him. A hat is made out of the pouch, and he jams it on his head, slouching and imitating an old man, limping mildly and mumbling to himself in fluent French.

"Joints sanglants, météo stupide, putain enfer, vieillir c'est de la merde." His gravelly old man voice has a perfect French accent, and the officer pacing past him does little more than shoot him a smile and a bonjour. _Bloody joints, stupid weather, fucking hell, getting old is shit. _His impression of a sour, French grandfather has done the trick.

He hops on the boat down the river, the owner of which thinks she is taking an old man to his granddaughter's house.

Three hours later, he is safely ensconsed in the apartment Scott broke into, staring at the Regent diamond.

"I can't believe we stole the Regent diamond!" Allison whispers.

"We?" Stiles grins. "Me, technically." Allison ignores him.

"Why the diamond?" Scott asks. Despite being a veritable ninja, he isn't tactically minded. At all. "Why not the Mona Lisa?"

"We need to get on D'Meyer's radar."

"I don't get it."

Sighing, Stiles turns to Scott.

"If we were right there, and we didn't steal what is arguably the most famous painting in the world, and instead we just took a diamond which isn't even the biggest any more, won't he think that a little odd? And won't he notice when we keep doing it?" He turns away.

"And the food colouring?"

"It's a tag. So they know it's us every time."

"Yeah, but. Why use food colouring?" Scott asks, obviously puzzled. Stiles groans mentally, and turns to his friend again.

"Because food colouring has nothing special about it. All it does is serve as an indicator that the same person is committing the crime, but it has no distinguishing characteristics other than that. You can get it anywhere."

Stiles turns the rock over in a gloved hand, and then puts it back in the hat pouch.

"Let's go home."

_Derek grunts, trying to block out the noise of his phone ringing, desperately hoping to sleep longer. It is no use, and he grabs it, answering sourly._

"_What."_

"_Someone stole the Regent diamond."_

"_What's the Regent diamond?" He grumbles, heaving himself upright, and rubbing a hand over his face._

"_When it was found, it was the biggest diamond ever discovered, weighed nearly a pound and a half. It's been in The Louvre for decades."_

"_What?" Derek swings himself out of his bed, starts pulling clothes on, phones still pressed to his ear while his officer fills him in. "Why steal a diamond that isn't the biggest any more?"_

"_No one can figure it out, sir."_

"_Wait, if this person broke into The Louvre, why didn't they take the Mona Lisa?" He pauses with one leg in his pants, minding scrambling to piece something together, anything._

"_That's the question everyone is asking, sir."_

"_I'll be there as soon as I can."_

_April 2013, Egypt_

Stiles strides into the museum disguised as a jolly Egyptian man, suited, booted, and with an earpiece, disguised as a bluetooth headset. He babbles away about russian dolls in arabic, feigning a spirited discussion with his caller, who is really just Allison, and who is chuckling as he strolls towards the wing with all the mummy artefacts in.

"But they're so tiny, and they go inside each other!" He exclaims loudly in arabic, flapping his hands around elaborately. "No, I don't like them, Naya. I will not have them in our house."

"Guard on your left. No other tourists."

Fluidly, Stiles knocks into the guard, jabbing him with a dart covertly, and apologises rapidly in arabic, until the guard waves him off, and sits down heavily.

"Cameras have the new footage of you in three, two, one."He kneels, faking concern in time with the beginning of his fake footage. The guard dopily blinks at him, and slumps clumsily. Stiles catches him, laying him out, and skips over to the case, popping the top open as Allison tells him the alarms are disarmed. He tugs a glove on quickly, and scoops King Tutankhamen's golden collars out of the case, slipping them into a pocket in the lining of his jacket. He closes the case, flings a spray of food colouring, and leaves, resuming his loud conversation.

"No, Naya, when I return I want the creepy dolls gone!" He carries on in this manner until he is back at the car. Hopping in, he winks at Allison, who is laughing quietly as the car pulls away from the curb.

When they fly back to America, he stores the collars with the Regent, in a specially designed safe.

Then they go for lunch.

_Derek growls unhappily, palming his face and dragging it over his skin roughly. _

"_What this time?"_

"_King Tut's gold collars, Detective Inspector."_

"_Not his death mask, or the scarab thingy?"_

"_Nothing else was even touched, sir."_

_Alright, get forensics in, triple, quadruple check the CCTV, and I don't want a single inch of that room unchecked."_

_The officer leaves, and Derek swears under his breath, draining the dregs of his coffee, and heaves himself up._

"_Janine, book me a flight to Egypt."_

_July 2013, Rome_

Stiles swings himself out of the taxi, sticking a hand out for Lydia. She grabs onto to his hand, and gracefully manoeuvres herself onto the pavement. He pays the driver, thanks him in purposefully stilted Italian, and they make their way to the end of the queue for their destination.

Half an hour later, their legs are stiff with inactivity, and Stiles is glad they left their hotel early, because despite the time of day, the queue for the Vatican is still stupidly long. They pass the time muttering in English about the weather, the heat in particular, and canoodling merrily, exchanging soft words of affection.

In other words, playing the part of newly weds perfectly.

He likes to play the decoy sometimes. The stealing half is more energetic than he likes.

Eventually, they make it inside, and Lydia hands over their fake passports, tucking herself under his arm as she receives them back, and then they make their way through the security system, sending their bags and shoes through the scanner. The lining of the bags is something designed by an old member of their department, who left for the quiet life, and works like a charm, shielding their weapons, and tech, from the guards.

Stiles is also pleased to note that the ear pieces they are both wearing are completely undetected. He winks at Lydia, as it is her invention. She smirks back at him.

Shoes back on, bags on shoulders, and clinging to each other once more, they meander slowly around the Vatican's numerous halls, at least the ones open to the public.

Lydia hauls him around excitedly by the hand, pointing out her favourite paintings, and he knows that her enthusiasm is only a very small amount false, so he follows her, grinning like an idiot, and dropping kisses on her neck and cheek when he thinks she isn't paying attention(the grin is all him). The people around them are smiling at the boisterous couple, and Stiles mentally congratulates both of them, then tugs Lydia to a stop by a cordoned off corridor. She smiles up at him, letting tenderness fill her face, and he mumbles something under his breath.

"I love you, Mrs Murray." Their cover name falls from his lips easily. She runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and caresses his left hand, in full view of anyone watching, and fiddles with the fake wedding ring.

"And I love you, Mr Murray." That said, she yanks him into a kiss, and they make out heatedly for a minute, while Lydia's hidden hand, removed from his hair, works on picking the lock of the door around the corner. It clicks, unlocked, and she pulls away, flushed, and wipes the lipstick off Stiles' mouth, then grins and yanks him to the next room.

Allison is chuckling in his ear, and under the pretence of scratching his ear, he jabs the button to mute the comms. Lydia shoots him a look, and he grins reassuringly, slinging his arm around her shoulders, and kissing the side of her head, toying with her vibrant hair absent mindedly. She shoves a hand in his back pocket and they gaze at statues, Lydia telling him random facts about them, grinning like a loon as she does. She flinches suddenly, at some noise from the comms, and brushes her hair behind her ear, muting the noise subtly and covering her flinch, all in one.

"Where now, babe?" Stiles asks. She smiles up at him, playing with the fabric of his shirt.

"Sistine chapel?" She looks up hopefully, and he pecks her nose fondly.

"Never could say no to you." He says, entirely truthfully. He un-mutes his comms momentarily, only to hear Allison kicking a door in, so he switches channels, to find Isaac on the other end.

"She's in the corridor. Offline for another ten minutes. You two finish up on your date." Stiles taps on his ear in Morse code, knowing the sensitive mike will pick up his affirmation, leaving it on so he knows when Allison is done.

"Come on then, babe." He says, and grins in delight as Lydia tows him eagerly in the direction of the chapel. They spend another half an hour there, and ten minutes in, Allison is back online, breathless but successful, and Isaac picks her up.

"You and Lydia stay in Italy for another three days, and we'll meet you in Munich." Stiles taps again in confirmation, knowing it would break their cover to leave in the middle of their 'honeymoon'.

"Ready for lunch, sweetie?" Lydia is finally done ogling the frescoes, and she hooks her thumbs into his belt loops, tugging them closer together, and kissing him softly.

"Sure. Got anywhere in mind?" He splays his hand over her back, privately marvelling about how small she is. His hand fits almost entirely the width of her back.

"No, but there's this really cute ice cream place near the Trevi fountain. We could go there later, or tomorrow?"

"We could go there later _and_ tomorrow." He murmurs playfully.

"You spoil me, baby." She says, pecking him on the lips, and they exit the chapel, making their way to the exit of the city.

Lydia thanks the staff on the door in enthusiastic, if slow, Italian, while Stiles drapes his arm over her shoulder, and gazes adoringly at her.

The guy on the door is apparently asking if they've been married long, because Lydia saying something about honeymoons. He smiles at her, kisses her on the cheek, and she snuggles further into him, still chatting to the guy on the door. He waits until she finishes up, and they stroll down the street together, tucked together despite the heat, apparently going somewhere specific, because Lydia is nudging him to turn, and okay, he can play sheep for a moment.

Much later, when they are back at the hotel, and Lydia is snoozing on his chest, he thinks he will play sheep more often when Lydia is involved, because she got a fantastic recommendation from the guy on the door, and they had lunch at an adorable café, where the food was great, and the coffee was even better. After, they went to find the gelato shop she had mentioned, and yes, they were definitely going back before they left, because he had some of the best ice cream of his life there.

He types carefully on his laptop, trying not to wake Lydia, and logs into the secure server to check on Allison and Isaac's progress. The tracker in the car shows they have made it just past Florence, and have stopped for the night. He logs out, turns off his laptop, and shuts the lid, and slings it carefully at the chair, grinning in triumph as it lands perfectly. Lydia mumbles latin into the skin at his neck, where her face is pressed, and he tries not to laugh, instead sliding carefully down the bed, turning the lamp on the bedside table out.

He falls asleep quickly, comfortable and warm.

They spend an incredibly pleasant three days, roaming(heh) around the city, sightseeing and keeping up their cover, not talking about the mission at all, just relaxing, and at the end of those three days, they board a flight to Munich.

They meet Isaac at the gate, and he drives them to the hotel, where he promptly collapses on the bed next to Allison and Scott, and passes out.

"Poor puppy. They must be exhausted, driving all the way through Italy, Switzerland, _and_ some of Germany." Stiles nods, gesturing to let them sleep, while he yanks on a pair of gloves, and pulls their prize from a soft velvet bag that is much bigger than he is sure it should be.

"Wow." He says.

Lydia comes over to look, eyes widening in surprise.

"That is...a _lot_ bigger than I expected."

"Well. One papal tiara removed." Stiles shakes his head. "Tiara my ass. This is a frigging crown."

_They stole the papal tiara? Derek runs his hand through his hair in frustration, exhausted after the conversation with the head of the Swiss Guard._

"_Same signature?" He asks Erica. She tosses her blonde hair and sighs._

"_Yeah, food colouring. Ethan has forensics running tests now, and if it's anything like the other batches, there won't be any distinguishing characteristics. Danny still hasn't got a manufacturer for the others." Derek sighs in frustration. So far they have managed to keep all three stories out of the news, but sooner or later, they were going to have to say something, or the museums, and the Vatican, will._

"_Alright. Let me know if they get anything. I'll be in my office." She nods, blonde hair bobbing jauntily, at odds with the situation, and Derek strides off to his office, swiping a huge mug of coffee on his way._

_Settling in his stupidly uncomfortable chair, he looks over the file again, for what is probably the hundredth time. There doesn't seem to be any pattern to the thefts, they have gone from France, to Egypt, to Rome, and there is no way to predict where they will strike next. There is also no criteria for the items stolen. A diamond that isn't the biggest, residing in the same museum as the most famous painting in the world? An Egyptian king's gold collars, in the same museum as several far more valuable pieces of history? And the papal tiara, which is purely aesthetic and is used in a ceremonial way? Why not take the papal seal, forge letters and the like from the pope?_

_He sighs, sips his coffee, and starts working on pinning up everything they have found on his walls, connecting them with coloured string. Blue for information gathered, green for solved, and finally, red for unsolved._

_The strings are all red._

_They have nothing._

_**The chapter after this will be a year later, and Derek(poor baby) will be a lot closer to the midst of it. Then things will really kick off.**_

_**G x**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Bunches. I did say bunches of chapters.**_

_**Disclaimer: I still don't own teen wolf. No, Jeff, put it down! Please, I'm not stealing anything! *ducks***_

"What the hell do you mean they hit The Louvre _again_?" Derek says, clenching his fists. The small mousy man in front of him trembles, and repeats himself.

"After they took the Orb from London last week, they went back to Paris, and they took Empress Marie-Louise's necklace and earrings." His voice is shaky.

"Did you get anything?"

"They're on site, sir." The man is pale, obviously terrified. Erica slips in front of Derek, and ushers the man away, shooting him a glare as she does. Derek growls under his breath, and Danny shoots Ethan a glance.

_Coffee_ he mouths at his boyfriend. Ethan hurries away and comes back a few minutes later, with Derek's giant mug, full to the brim of fresh coffee, creamer and sugar added just the way he likes.

Derek looks up tiredly, and mutters a weary thank you, wrapping his hands around the ceramic.

"When was the last time you slept, Derek?" Ethan asks softly. Derek shakes his head.

"I don't know." He props his head on his hand and yawns heavily. Danny casts Erica a look, and she jabs Derek in the side, none too gently, either.

"What?" He grumbles.

"Go home. Take an advil, get a good eight hours of sleep, and eat something." He stares at her for a moment. She raises an eyebrow at him, all of a sudden reminding him fiercely of Laura, with her no nonsense attitude and red lipstick, and the way she would bully him into taking care of himself. So he stands, slightly unsteady, and makes his way out of the office, dropping a kiss on Erica's head as he leaves.

"Derek?" He turns back to look at her, as she calls after him. "Get a suit to drive you." He nods, and leaves properly this time, ringing for someone to drive him back to his apartment. Hopping in the car that arrives, he yawns again, and dozes on the twenty minute ride, waking with a start when the driver nudges him as they arrive.

"Thanks, Billy." He clambers from the car, and stumbles up to his apartment, unlocking the door, and kicking it shut behind him, staggering into his bedroom and flopping on his huge bed.

He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

_Stiles ducks under the guard's fist, the same one he tranqued the last time they were here. The guard growls in frustration and Stiles is suddenly glad Lydia bullied him into wearing the balaclava. The guard swings again and Stiles plants his booted foot in the other man's chest, kicking him backwards and wincing as the man falls heavily to the floor, gasping for breath. Stiles quickly slides down next to him and punches him hard, knocking him out, and he scrambles to catch the man's head before it thunks to the ground. He manages it just in time, and lowers him gently, making sure the man doesn't suffer any more harm. He will already have a huge headache as it is._

"_Stiles, you have five minutes, get your ass out of there now." Scott snaps over comms, and Stiles hauls himself up and books it across the courtyard, yanking off his mask and stripping off his jacket, praying that his dorky under shirt will fool anyone who looks, and then he bends and yanks his trouser legs out of his boots, letting them fall over them to hide the fact that they are combat boots. Then, slinging his jacket over his shoulder, he pulls his cellphone from his pocket and rings Lydia, sauntering along and easily looking like a teenager who has just snuck out to see his girlfriend._

_He talks sweetly in rapid French to her, and clumsily hops into his rental car, a few streets over from the museum._

"_Lyds? How long do I have before that guard wakes up?" He asks in russian. The switch between languages doesn't faze her in the slightest, and she replies in the same language._

"_Ten, maybe fifteen minutes? I'll keep an eye out and tell you when he comes to."_

"_Okay, for now, I'm going to check out of the hotel and get to the airport. I'll see you in London, okay?"_

"_Sure. I'll pick you up at nine, local time." She rings off without saying goodbye, and he starts the car, driving to his hotel. He climbs the stairs to his room, packs speedily, and then checks out._

"_Mom wants me back." He tells the clerk, ignoring the familiar clench of his heart. She wishes him a pleasant trip, and he sticks with his cover of a teenager on holiday, waving merrily, and yelling a 'later' over his shoulder. He makes his way to the rental place, returns the car, and gets a taxi to the airport, then finds the flight details Lydia had texted him on the way. He has a three hour wait, but he spends half of that getting through customs, and then waits until the flight starts boarding, nursing a coffee, and trying to mask his nerves. This is the first time a guard has caught them mid act, and he knows that the police will get closer this time, closer than he wants them. The good thing is that the weapon they stole from a New York Mafia boss three weeks ago got them on D'Meyer's radar in a big way, and he expects to be contacted in the next month or so._

_The call for his flight rings through the airport, and he scoops his rucksack up, boarding and settling down in his seat quickly. Despite the late hour, the flight is full, mostly people flying on business trips, and he suddenly feels very out of place, in his guise of teenager, even though he is almost twenty six. So he puts his headphones on, and bunks down, dozing with half an ear open. He is woken by the announcement that they are about to land, and sits up again, blinking blearily and yawning. The plane lands with a bone jolting bump, and he waits until they are let off, springing up and stretching his coltish legs uncomfortably._

_He winds his way through the airport, uncomfortable for no apparent reason. It takes him a minute to figure out that he feels like he is being watched. So he swings into a store to buy a hat, even though he doesn't need one. He bends slightly to look at one, glancing in the mirror and scanning the reflection. He spots a Hawaiian man, clinging on to a man that looks like he is his boyfriend, and even with the way they are subtly watching him from their place at the café, he thinks they genuinely are together. As he adjusts the hat, tipping his head to get a better view, he spots a blonde girl sauntering across the wide corridor, and the Hawaiian man winks at her. _

_Three out of four, he thinks to himself, switching hats and ducking down to look in the mirror again. FBI teams(and it is an FBI team, because they are back in the US, and in an airport, to boot) nearly always work in teams of four or five, even on basic recon._

_He yanks the hat from his head, and picks up a dark blue beanie, pulling it on and staring in surprise at his reflection._

_He looks good._

_He goes to buy the beanie, still on edge, and he doesn't know where the last member of the team is. Leaving the store, he rings Allison and pulls the beanie on as he dials._

"_Stiles?" She picks up almost immediately, and he greets her in a perfect Iowan accent._

"_Hi, Mom. Is Uncle George almost here? My flight landed a little while ago, and I only have to pick up my stuff now." Stiles manages to look relaxed and slightly tired, the image of a teenager returning home after a long trip away as he makes his way to the baggage carousel. His words are code for being watched, and he can hear Lydia tapping away on her computer._

_Allison swears._

"_Yeah, I had a great time with Alex and Tom. We went hiking almost every day. Alex nearly fell of a mountain though." He says to fill in the silence._

"_Stiles, the FBI got a tip off this morning from the guard in the Louvre, the one you tranqued the first time?"_

"_The pool was amazing, I went swimming every morning. I think I put on some muscle while I was away, which is pretty great." He hauls his suitcase off the carousel, setting it down carefully and wheeling it off as he wound his way back to a café, positioned perfectly to keep an eye on the mall behind him, and see if he could spot the last FBI agent._

"_He got hold of your old plane ticket, the one from Florida to Paris, and your alias. They sent a team to grab you when you landed, but I don't think they know who you really are, which is a problem, because they think you really are a thief."_

_Stiles scans the mall from his table, thanking the waiter when he sets down a coffee._

"_Alex and Tom decided to stay for a week more, but I can't, obviously. I can't believe the summer went so fast, I don't wanna go back to school." He whines, lolling his head back and sighing gustily. He uses the motion to glance at the couple and the blonde girl, still watching him._

_But...there. The blonde girl looks away from him for a moment, to a tall, muscular man, in jeans and a henley, and the man looks back at her, before turning on his heel and wandering past the couple's café. It's pretty obvious to Stiles' sharp eyes that he has been handed something, though he can't see what._

"_Stiles, you need to get out of there. Now. Scott is at the exit, in a red Prius. Move."_

"_Uncle George is here? Awesome. I'll see you when I get home, mom. Yeah, yeah, love you too. Bye." Stiles drinks his coffee quickly, then leaps up, shoving his phone back in his pocket before wheeling his suitcase behind him and through the crowd. In the reflection of shop windows, he can see the tall man following his sedately, and he takes a moment to appreciate the way the jeans cling to his thighs, before he is moving a little faster towards the exit. The couple and the blonde girl have disappeared, and he frantically wonders where they are, before the blonde girl appears in front of him, and he jerks to a stop before he walks into her._

"_Sorry!" She says cheerfully._

"_No, it's fine, I wasn't watching where I was going. Sorry." He moves to the side and slips past her, turning his head at the last moment to see her slip a tracker in his bag, and to see the handsome man, closer that he would prefer, given that he is trying to arrest him. He speeds up a fraction, but then bends down to tie his shoes, and slides the tracker out of his bag, tucking it in someone else's shoe. The fed has lost sight of him, and he stays crouched, as he pulls a device from his pocket and sighs in frustration, altering his path to follow the new trajectory of the bug. The blonde woman follows him, and the couple appear and follow soon after. Stiles straightens up from where he had been fiddling with things in his bag to seem busy, and heads right for the exit, spotting the Prius, and tapping on the window to get Scott to open it. He pops the trunk, shoves his suitcase in, and hops into the passenger seat, smirking in triumph as Scott pulls away._

_It takes him a good few miles to relax, confident they aren't being tailed, and he turns to grin at Scott._

"_Hey, bud. Thanks for the rescue." Scott smiles grimly, and nods, flicking the indicator lever and turning the wheel. Then he smiles cheekily._

"_Nice hat, Stiles."_

_The tension in the car is broken, and they burst out laughing. Stiles sobers after a moment._

"_We really need to find out how the hell this happened. I didn't even take my ticket with me on the mission. It was in my hotel room, and I'm fairly sure I brought it back with me."_

_Scott shoots him a glance, and nods in agreement. "We'll scan your luggage for bugs when we get back, and we'll look for the ticket, and then we can try and figure out what the fuck is happening."_

_Stiles hmms thoughtfully._

"_If my ticket is gone, that means we have a mole."_

"_It won't be anyone in our team, you know that. Maybe someone in the department, or a higher up." Scott has obviously been talking to Allison._

"_Mmmh."_

_They arrive back at base, Lydia pronounces Stiles bug free, and they all go to bed._

_They can sort this mess in the morning._

Derek swears loudly, viciously and angrily, scowling fiercely as the man before him snarls furiously at Erica. The middle aged, balding businessman had been grabbed a moment ago, because Derek followed Erica's bug on his modified phone. If he had just kept an eye on the kid, he would have him in custody by now. He swears again, over the sound of Danny apologising to the man and letting him go. Erica grimaces, and drags the team back to car.

"What the _hell_ happened, Erica?" He growls.

"He must have snuck the bug onto that guy's shoe. I'm sorry, Derek. I thought we had him." She tells him wearily. She slumps in the passenger seat of the car, closing her eyes and frowning. She is much paler than usual, a sure sign that she has been ill, without telling anyone.

"Erica?" She looks at him.

"What?" Derek sighs as Danny and Ethan clamber into the car.

"When? And why didn't you tell me?" The blonde girl sighs and squirms in her seat.

"I didn't want you to worry, Der."

"When, Erica?" Derek is angry, but he isn't going to shout, because he knows from experience that shouting can trigger Erica's fits again.

"Yesterday evening." She whispers. He sighs and gathers her up in a hug, squeezing gently. There isn't really anything he can do, other than take her off field missions, which she would hate him for anyway.

"Have you been taking your meds?" Danny asks, sitting in the back seat, and leaning in through the front seats. Erica nods jerkily, and Derek feels her shoulders heave against him.

"Talk to your doctor, Erica. These new meds aren't helping, are they?" Danny pushes. Somehow he manages to make it sound concerned, which Derek supposes he is. Danny has known Erica a lot long than the rest of them, and worries about her almost constantly.

"Kay. I'll ring tomorrow morning." She says, muffled slightly from where her face is pushed into Derek's shoulder.

Derek debates it quickly in his head, before grimacing.

"Erica. I don't want to, you know that, but..." She shakes her head.

"I know, I know, just...please don't say it, Derek. I'll do desk work, and intel, until I'm okay again."

"Okay." Derek doesn't push further, but puts the car in drive, and backs out, driving them back to the office.

They spend four hours doing paper work for their failed mission.

Four. Hours.

When they're done, they are all too tired to head home, so they crash on the mattresses in the break room, which has become all too frequent an occurrence on this case.

They can sort this mess in the morning.


End file.
